


Breathe Me

by KateAtTheClose



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 06:25:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateAtTheClose/pseuds/KateAtTheClose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Babe wonders, regrets and hopes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe Me

 

Babe wondered what Gene was like before the war. 

 

Babe would watch, listening distractedly to whatever it was he was being told by the guy next to him, as Gene leaned over a body on a stretcher across the road and lifted the dog tags up between his bloody fingers off the even bloodier chest.  Gene’s pale face was lost in the shadow cast by his helmet, but Babe knew what his expression would hold.

 

Then, later, when Babe would catch him in the hallway of whatever war-torn building they were occupying, their paths crossing unexpectedly, he’d press his hand to Gene’s shoulder and wait for Gene to process who it was.  Gene would look up at him, dark eyes startled, used to people yelling for a medic, for Doc, but never expecting simple friendship, concern, or care.  

 Gene would lean into Babe’s touch, finally letting his exhaustion tell, eyes fluttering closed, and Babe would tug him into a room off the hallway, kicking the door closed and hearing the lock click into place.  Then Gene would push their helmets off, letting them fall to the floor with a mellow crash and roll to wherever they could, knowing the battered green metal had been through far worse and survived, just like them.

 

And then Gene would press his lips to Babe’s, threading his fingers through Babe’s messy, dirty hair and Babe would pull Gene close, hands easily finding his hips and lower back and sliding into place as if they were meant to be there.  Gene’s medical bag would be slipped off his shoulder and dropped to the ground, Babe’s scarf untangled from around his neck and tossed aside.  They’d migrate across the room, paying attention to lips and tongues and hot breath and touch and not steps or grace until one of their backs collided with the wall.  The shock would be enough for them to pull apart long enough to fiddle and fight with buttons, Gene softly kissing low on Babe’s neck against his rapid pulse, as if he were checking for life and, after finding it, eternally grateful.  Babe, always impatient when they pulled apart, achingly hard, always feeling young and immature and vulnerable in the moment when jackets were pulled off shoulders and belts were reached for. 

 

Then, pants open, thin t-shirts exposing them to the dim room’s musty air, their bodies would press against each other once more, Babe’s fingers finding the stretch of skin beneath the hem of Gene’s shirt and sliding up the warm skin of his back, so much softer than rough military-issue uniforms.  Kissing, always kissing, mouths open and pushing and taking and giving, first gently than decisively but always passionately. 

 

Babe would find his back to the wall, the firm support not unwelcome as Gene pressed against him, leg slipped between Babe’s, pressing the friction just  _there_ , just where Babe wanted it most, where he needed it most, as his hips rocked up towards Gene’s with intentions of their own.  Then Babe would clutch at Gene and tilt his head to kiss him closer, then his nose would brush against Gene’s cheekbone, his hand lost somewhere in Gene’s dark, soft hair, until he brought his lips down again just beneath Gene’s ear, causing Gene to shudder wonderfully in his arms. 

 

Then Babe would be pressing Gene to the wall, not sure when the change took place, not entirely sure if it was him or Gene that initiated it, their hips still rocking together with a steady rhythm, all friction and heat and impossibly good.  Faster, pressing tighter, Babe would teeter on the edge, Gene held close in his arms, and then over he would go, pulling Gene with him, lost to the world.

 

When Babe would blink up at the dirty ceiling, the wall hard against the back of his head, Gene’s forehead pillowed against his shoulder, he’d sling his arms around Gene’s waist and breathe, his heartbeat slowing, feeling Gene’s do similarly against his chest, the other body a warm, comfortable weight against him.  Then, Gene would pull away, pausing to look at Babe with soft fondness and to kiss him lazily.  And then came the awkward attempts to clean up as best they could, when shirts were tucked into pants and buttons done up and Babe would feel his cheeks flush with embarrassment despite everything. 

 

But then Gene would lean towards him, dark eyes bright, forehead smoothed of stress and worry, mouth tilted up in an amused smile as he brushed Babe’s wild ginger hair back into some semblance of sensibility.   

 

It would be in moments like these that Babe wished they could stay longer, that he could hold Gene forever in his arms and protect and keep him from the world and war beyond the door.  Beautiful, playful, happy… He would wonder if this was closer to what Gene had always been like before he volunteered to jump out of an airplane and had a red cross slapped to his arm. 

 

It would be in moments like these that Babe knew that he would do anything to tease that carefree smile out of Gene, be it through gifts of Hersheys, soft words, or by tugging him into abandoned rooms to remind him of what it felt like to be alive.   

 

And then Gene would reach for their discarded helmets and Babe would hold his in his hands as he watched Gene put his on, witnessing the setting of Gene’s mouth and the tightening of his shoulders that accompanied the motion.  Back to being the serious, tense, reliable Doc Roe, still painfully beautiful, but heartbreakingly so with his bloody hands and searching eyes and the determination that both saved and broke him. 

 

Babe would open the door and follow him out, his hand on the small of Gene’s back until they parted, moving their separate ways down the hallway until their paths could cross again and Babe could make Gene forget once more.

 

-

 

Be my friend  
Hold me, wrap me up  
Unfold me  
I am small  
I'm needy  
Warm me up  
And breathe me 

 

               -“Breathe Me”, Sia


End file.
